Out Of Her Favour, Where I Am

My Crown Is In My Heart, Not On My Head.

But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

No Reckoning Made, But Sent To My Account With All My Imperfections On My Head.

Is It Possible That Love Should Of A Sudden Take Such A Hold?

To Persist In Doing Wrong Extenuates Not The Wrong, But Makes It Much More Heavy.